Читать книгу Voyage - Stephen Baxter - Страница 22

Bert Seger had some paperwork to finish up before he got to go home today. But when news of the splashdown came in he walked out of his office, into the Control Center’s high corridor. He pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of his jacket, his hand brushing the pink carnation that his wife had placed there for him, as always.

After a twelve-day flight, Apollo 14 had splashed down in the Pacific, four miles from the carrier Okinawa. NASA was going to be on a high for a while, Seger realized. Scott and Irwin had spent nineteen hours outside the LM, compared to under three hours for Armstrong and Muldoon, and they had traversed seventeen miles around the terrain at the base of a fifteen-thousand-foot mountain. The flight controllers and astronauts had become pretty good at coordinating with the scientists in the back rooms about where and how they should proceed. Almost every one of the J-class mission’s innovations – the upgraded LM, the Rover, the orbiting Service Module’s instrument pallet – had worked without a hitch.

14 had been the biggest success since the first landing: even skeptics among the scientists were applauding the mission.

But now it was done.

Seger’s footsteps echoed in the quiet. It was just two years since Apollo 11, he thought, and yet the first age of lunar exploration was already over. Damn it, Seger thought. We just got good at this stuff, and now we have to stop.

He stopped at the door of the MOCR, Mission Control, and stepped in. The MOCR was deserted; everybody had already left for the splashdown party, some almighty gumbo affair the Mission Evaluation guys were holding over in Building 45.

He climbed the steps to the Flight Director’s console: the heart of a mission, even more so than the couch of the spacecraft commander himself. The big twenty-by-ten-feet screen at the front of the room was black, cold. The controllers’ consoles were littered with books, logs, checklists, headsets, and ashtrays filled with cigarette butts and half-smoked cigars. Some of the controllers had left behind the little Stars and Stripes they’d waved when the spacecraft splashed down.

Maybe, he thought, some day these consoles would be full of data streaming in from a manned spacecraft in orbit around Mars.

Standing here, thinking of it in those terms, it didn’t seem possible; but then, the lunar landing must have seemed just as impossible back in 1959, when NASA didn’t yet exist, and technicians had taken Mercury boiler-plate capsules to the Cape on the backs of flatbed trucks, cushioned by mattresses.

It was Bert Seger’s job to make Mars happen.

Seger had been appointed, just a month ago, as a deputy director of the Office of Manned Spaceflight, one of NASA’s four big divisions. His job was running the embryonic Mars Program Office, here in Houston.

Fred Michaels had become the new Administrator, after Tom Paine’s resignation, and he seemed determined to pull the Agency out of the mess his predecessor had left behind. And he had appointed Bert Seger himself.

‘Bert, the damn Mars thing is already coming apart at the seams, and we haven’t even got back the final Phase A definition reports yet. Look – I need someone to do for Mars what Joe Shea did for the Moon program, back in the early days. To pull the thing together. Or we’re never going to get it past Nixon.’

Seger understood. ‘You need a foreman,’ he’d said. ‘And an enforcer.’

‘Damn right I do. Will you do it?’

‘Damn right I will.’

‘Then here’s your first job,’ Michaels had said. ‘Sort out the goddamn mission mode …’

The competing industry contractors, preparing their Phase A preliminary studies, were all working on different ways of getting to Mars, but the routes they were planning were all direct: Earth to Mars, and back to Earth. Now there was some guy in Langley who was kicking up a fuss about another mode. Something to do with flying by Venus on the way.

‘Some little jerk called Dana,’ Michaels said. ‘Gregory Dana. He wrote direct to me. Can you believe it?’ Dana had bypassed all the bureaucratic channels, and had got right up a lot of asses.

‘Is he right? About Venus?’

‘How in hell do I know? Could I care less, at this point? This Dana has got them all – the Marshall guys, the rest of Langley, the contractors, the Budget Office, the damn Science Advisory Council – buzzing like wasps in a jar. The Requests for Proposal for Phase B detailed definition studies are about to go out. This Dana is putting all of that under threat. Bert, I want you to sort it out for me …’

Seger didn’t doubt his own ability to resolve this mode issue. Nor did he doubt that he’d be able to fulfill his greater commission: to pull together the Mars program. If that was what the country decided it wanted to do.

Seger always prayed, intensely, for a few minutes at the start of the working day, or before tackling a major task. He felt that showed his character had deep roots, strength, conviction. Standing there in the MOCR, he offered up a brief prayer now.

He thought of that fragile little world two hundred and forty thousand miles away, where three LM descent stages still sat, surrounded by footprints and scuffed-up lunar soil. But the footprints, and the flags, even the science – none of that was really the point, as far as Seger was concerned. Not even getting there ahead of the Russians. To his mind, what Apollo had proved was that men could indeed travel to places beyond the Earth, and live and work there.

The Moon hadn’t been as exotic as some had suspected. Some had predicted that the astronauts would sink into miles of dust. Or that the mountains of the Moon might be fragile, like huge gray meringues maybe, and would collapse in puffs of dust when the astronauts tried to walk there. Or maybe the moondust would catch fire, or explode, when the astronauts brought it into the LM. Or the astronauts would be afflicted by terrible diseases …

In the end, those hard-headed engineers who had stubbornly insisted that the Moon would be just like Arizona – and had designed the LM’s landing gear that way – had turned out to be right. That’s what I gotta bear in mind, he thought. Mars will be just like Arizona, too.

To Seger, that was a magical thought, as if Earth and Moon and Mars were somehow unified, physically, as they were bridged by the exploits of Americans.

He walked carefully down the steps, away from the Flight Director’s console, and latched the door behind him.